


revenge is a dish best served together

by aetherae



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fix-It, Gen, although i guess it's still ~canon-compliant~, as we all know the s7 sansa and arya feud was absolutely ridic, in this house we love and respect sansa the way she deserves, so here's a better take on how it REALLY should've been happening, this is a stark family fun time fic through and through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherae/pseuds/aetherae
Summary: Years apart means quality family bonding time is... a little unconventional. Not that Sansa's complaining.





	revenge is a dish best served together

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever get so possessed by an idea for a fic that you know you have no choice but to try and write it out otherwise it'll plague you for the rest of forever?? that's what this is. this entire thing came from me brushing my teeth at 5am and suddenly thinking of bran saying his first line here. it's a few days before s8 premieres and literally i was possessed into writing this by a dumb line.
> 
> THAT SAID THOUGH this was fun to write, i hope it's fun to read, got fandom seems WILD with drama and i'm really not here for it alright! i just want the starks to be happy, and this is them being happy! if that's not your cup of tea, you can always close the tab. if anyone wants to get persnickety regarding some of the vernacular used here: yes i'm highly aware that it's probably unfitting for the setting, no i don't really care. i'm also very aware that i'm probably forgetting/missing details from canon, maybe some actions are ooc, etc etc blah blah blah. i already labeled this as crack okay! let's just have some fun!!
> 
> and now with THAT all said, i hope you enjoy!

It sounds, quite frankly, ridiculous.

They’re in the godswood under the heart tree, Bran having asked them two of them to meet him there earlier. Long gone were the days where their brother would ask for stories of knights and heroes unprompted, now even more miserly with his words than Jon ever was. Sansa knew it must be a significant manner for Bran to take the initiative, especially given the location. The godswood remains one of the few places in all of Winterfell that affords true privacy.

After he speaks, she knows exactly why he wanted to speak here. But, well.

“Are you sure this will work? I know you receive… visions and whatnot, but this seems a little—”

“Ludicrous? Absolutely batty?”

If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would laugh at how frank and direct Arya is. As it is, she can only sigh in agreement. “Yes, that.”

Bran nods solemnly despite what he just suggested on how to get rid of Littlefinger—that she and Arya feud with each other, enough to convince him that she’ll put Arya on trial, only to turn it around and have it be his trial.

It doesn’t help that she and Arya just spent the last several days reacquainting themselves with one another, learning each others’ hurts and hopes, remembering what it means to be sisters, to be Starks. Despite their time apart and how vastly different their journeys proceeded, she thinks it made them more alike than ever before. The only reason they don’t walk around together arms linked is because she insists on at least some sense of decorum as the Lady of Winterfell.

“I’m positive. The man can’t fathom the idea of two women getting along, let alone sisters.”

“… You’re serious.” Arya stares openly at Bran, his face never changing from its placid, somewhat unnerving blank expression. He blinks at her, and she blinks back before turning to face her sister once more. “That’s it? That’s all it’ll take?”

Sansa thinks of her lady mother and the letter that started it all, of her Aunt Lysa and how she treated her own niece before being pushed out the Moon Door. She thinks of Littlefinger’s interference in all of it, of how easily he could—no, _would_ try it again. It is, as she thought, quite ridiculous.

But that’s what will make this easy.

“Well, when he puts it like that… Yes, that’s really it.”

And that’s the start of that.

●

She starts things off simply, just to test the waters.

The day is hardly past noon as she pours over the letters and ledgers at her desk, checking the numbers and cross-referencing them with what supplies they need. Bran remains seated beside her rather than at the godswood for once, Ghost resting atop both their feet as they sit, while Littlefinger… Honestly, she’s not sure. He makes himself look busy, perusing through papers of his own, but she’s sure he merely lies in wait for the nearest opportunity to be a nuisance to her. Or to help her, she supposes he would think.

It takes a great deal of effort not to roll her eyes. Instead, she heaves a sigh, making as big a show of possible when she rests her chin in her hand. Beside her, she almost thinks she sees Bran’s lips twitch into a smile.

Just as she thought, the Lord of the Vale practically jumps to her desk.

“Whatever is the matter, my dear? Shall I help you pen a reply, or is there a problem with your arithmetic?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she says, sighing once more when she’d really love nothing more than to have him thrown out of the room for his patronizing. As if she needs his help, of all people, to run her own keep. “It’s just… No, never mind, it’s rather silly.”

He smiles. It would almost look warm, if she didn’t know better by now. “Not at all, Sansa. No matter what it is, if it’s something that troubles you, I would like to hear it.”

“Well…” She bites the inside of her cheek, a picture of childish vulnerability as she thinks of what tale to spin. “It’s about Arya. I thought after all this time, after everything that’s happened, she would’ve changed some. Grown up a bit. Instead she’s picked back up everything she used to do just to annoy me.”

“Now, I thought I taught you better than that. You know how so few people ever manage to change…” He spares a single glance at Bran before continuing on, placing his hand above hers on the desk. It takes a second for her to realize that the shaking at her feet is Ghost biting back a growl.

There’s no room for her to say much else as the man goes on and on in thinly-veiled metaphors about how clearly the worst parts of Arya have never changed, how she’ll only continue to get worse and remain the selfish little girl she always was, how she’ll never look out for her best interests like he will. She can’t afford to look back at Bran while Littlefinger speaks to her, but impossible as it seems for her younger brother to emote now, she can practically feel his wider-than-normal stare on the Lord of the Vale as he prattles on. The man is so transparent, she could almost laugh.

_Bloody hell, that’s really all it took. What on earth. How did I ever think him intelligent?_

She may be the one with Tully blood in her veins, but she’s never seen anyone fall so easily for hook, line, and sinker.

 ●

“And then at the end while you and Brienne are pointing blades at each other, I look aside to him one more time—put on my best ‘goodness I’m afraid of my own sister’ face, whatever that is—and I can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He’s thinking to himself, ‘What if I convince her to kill her sister before Arya kills her, yes, that’s a brilliant idea! They’ll never suspect a thing, just each other until it’s too late!’ Thank the gods I made that hasty retreat to look as if I feared you, what I truly feared was that he’d be breathing his suggestions down my neck. The man has lost all sense of propriety now that he thinks he can get me to kill you.”

Ghost barks just in time to cover up Arya’s ear-splitting peal of laughter, tears leaking from her eyes as she doubles over and slaps her knee. Sansa knows well enough that in hindsight, after enough time has passed, she’ll more than likely find the entire affair just as hysterical as her sister does. Sadly though, hindsight can’t happen when you’re right in the thick of it, and she downs her goblet of wine to try and stave off the headache this whole thing has been giving her. For all that she learned from Cersei, she didn’t think the benefits of wine would be one of the more important lessons.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Arya says with a gasp, still trying to catch her breath. “I know this is what the whole thing’s banking on and all, but I still can’t believe it. He really thinks I could kill you, my own sister whom I haven’t seen in so many years, when we’ve all been through so much hell and back. He’s so positive that for even just a moment, I’d actually consider killing you. Gods, what a nut! And you have to put up with all his horseshit!”

She refills her goblet and takes another long sip from it. “It’s dreadful, Arya, absolutely dreadful. I almost wish you would slit his throat in his sleep so we’d be done with it.”

“Remind me again why I can’t just do that? It’d be terribly simple, hilariously simple even. I wouldn’t even need a face to pretend to be a serving girl. Actually, I don’t even need to pretend anything to get into any of the rooms here. Just slip into the room, wait for him to get back and settled in or whatever, and slit his throat right there and then. Easy.”

“You’re Starks,” Bran says, his first time saying anything despite them being in his chambers to begin with.

“ _We’re_ Starks,” Sansa huffs, “and we’re doing this the honorable way or not at all.”

Arya shrugs. “Honor is what killed Father. I can’t say I see much point in it anymore.”

“True.” Sadly, terribly true, but that’s not the point right now. There’s too much to be done to be lost to grief again. “But we’re the Starks of Winterfell, and that means something to the North. Besides, we need the Knights of the Vale, and we won’t get them without removing Lord Baelish from power first. Of course, I’m sure it would be easy to convince Lord Ryoce to oust him on his own, but…” She leans back in her chair, swirling the wine in her glass with an unladylike shrug. “He raised me in an attempt to craft a tool that would benefit him, but he never realized I would outsmart him. I’d quite like him to understand that when he begs for his life, standing accused for his crimes that he was so sure would never see the light of day.”

“Right, that was it.” She thinks for a second she hears the tiniest sniffle, but when she looks at Arya with her bright eyes, the smile on her face couldn’t be anything but proud. “I can slit his throat after though, yeah?”

Sansa grins back. “Naturally.”

Bran smiles, small and secretive. Few echoes of the Three-Eyed Raven’s former life rarely show through, but he can’t help but smile in anticipation for his eldest sister. Even if precognition isn’t within his powers, he thinks he has a good enough idea of how this ends.

●

_Dear Jon,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, even though your previous letters lead me to believe that it is impossible to be well on Dragonstone. This is what you get for not listening to me when I warned you not to head South, so forgive me if I don’t have much sympathy for your complaints about the weather. To put it simply: I told you so._

_Jokes aside, I do hope the business on Dragonstone is going well. The sooner you can return home, the better. Arya and Bran send their love (or at least I hope Bran does, as I’ve mentioned it’s been somewhat difficult to speak with him), and we all miss you. For better or worse, there’s not much new to keep you apprised on the state of the North. Thankfully there’s yet to be news of White Walkers, but we’re all doing what we can to prepare for the coming battles. Stocking Winterfell with the proper supplies has been slow-going but steady, more young men arrive to be trained every day, and the Knights of the Vale should be secure within a few days’ time once Lord Baelish is finally executed._

_I suppose I shouldn’t say that so explicitly for fear of this letter being intercepted, but frankly speaking, it will be too late for him even if it is. Granted, I don’t doubt that our letters have been examined by the Dragon Queen or Tyrion on occasion, but I imagine she won’t have much interest in a Stark family affair._

_And it is a Stark family affair, through and through. As I’m ever reminding you, you’re a Stark as well. I wish you were here with us for it, for every remaining Stark to finally see the traitor that’s plagued our family for so long finally held responsible for his crimes. Then again, maybe not as I’m quite certain you would’ve sicced Ghost on him long before we could arrange everything necessary for the trial. You know, he nearly bit off Lord Baelish’s hand the other day. I nearly forgot to pretend to reprimand him for it, but I know he understands that I was merely pretending. The extra leftovers I fed him from supper most likely helped as well. We’re all quite exhausted at having kept up this charade for so long now. Thank the gods it ends soon, although that day can’t come soon enough._

_I believe that’s all there is to update you on right now. Not much else has changed since my last letter, but still. We miss you. I miss you. Come home safe._

_All my love,  
Sansa_

 

_Dear Sansa,_

_I’m not at all sorry to say that you are absolutely right, I would’ve glady sicced Ghost on the man long before any of this was done. (Although I’m glad to know that he’s been listening to you and hasn’t caused much trouble. He may even be more well-behaved with you than with me, much to my frustration.) Could you have blamed me though? The prick’s obviously had it coming._

_As I’m unfortunately but thankfully not there to ruin things with my short-sightedness, I’m so proud of all of you for serving the justice he deserves. Once again you’ve shown all of the North just what exactly the Starks can do together, just what you can do. I know you all did your best together to pull this off. Please spare no details regarding his execution in your reply. As I sadly can’t be there to witness it myself, I want to hear every little thing you can think of. If we had the resources to spare, I’d throw a feast just to celebrate your victory the moment I return home. Honestly speaking, I may try to do that regardless. We’ve had so few reasons to enjoy ourselves these years, we might as well take whatever opportunity arises, don’t you think?_

_Naturally, this would be after the feast we throw celebrating Bran’s and Arya’s return. That one is non-negotiable, I’ll bring extra food and supplies just for that from Dragonstone myself if I have to._

_As for everything else, well… Even less has changed here than in Winterfell. All I can say is that the business is going as best can be. Please send Bran and Arya my love as well, I can’t wait to see them after so long. I can’t wait to see you again as well. Thank you as always for taking care of the North as well as you are. I never doubted for a moment that you would._

_I’ll be home as soon as I can._

_Yours,  
Jon_

_P.S. Queen Daenerys doesn’t bother to read our letters as she leaves that to her Hand, and I now know this for sure rather than simply suspecting him. Tyrion just invited me to join him and Varys in celebrating Baelish’s impending death. He told me to tell you that he wishes to congratulate you. Gods, I wish I was home instead._

●

There’s more nonsense to put up with than Sansa would prefer as the days count down. Planted letters, staged reveals, low conversations in excessively tense tones. It’s a blessing that Littlefinger attempts to be discreet by simply having others listen in on her and Arya rather than having anyone see their arguments in person. More than once she bites back laughter, and she loses count of the times she waves to Arya to stop a grin from splitting her face.

Truly, the man is an idiot, she thinks. The very things that he expects to scare her most end up being what makes her feel safest. Arya’s skills are terrifying indeed, and she pities the fool who would dare try to hurt her. Save for Brienne and Ghost, there are none in all of the North who could defend her better.

Even Bran, changed as he is, no longer scares her. No matter his insistence on being the Three-Eyed Raven, this plan wouldn’t exist without his suggestion. For all his limited ways of showing it, her little brother cares for them yet. Her family fortifies her, strengthens her, and for the first time in a long while, she knows that Winterfell is truly her home.

It’s with her family by her side, in her heart, that Sansa finally ends Petyr Baelish’s life. She hears his last words, watches the life drain from his eyes without even a blink.

And just like that, it’s done.

“What now?” Arya asks, back up by the table as the household removes the body.

“Well, it seems we’ll be even busier now…” She takes out her last letter from Jon, not bothering to hide her smile, and holds it out for her siblings.

Arya rolls her eyes despite the grin on her face, and Bran tilts his head ever so slightly, as if amused.

They’ve little time to waste, what with a family feast to prepare for.

**Author's Note:**

> trust me, the vernacular could've been worse: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D32EPwYU4AEAI-B.png


End file.
